PRECIOUS dirt STONE road
by Linwen
Summary: Grief, frustration and a cold determination have dragged Emmeraud Wilshire to her current path. Will they be enough to help her find her father, lost in the mists of time but for a faded picture and a couple of words?
1. Chapter 1

**PRECIOUS**

**_dirt_**

**STONE**

**_road_**

The air was filled with the quiver and shiver and all the mechanical sounds of the Hogwarts Express. The muffled racket the rest of the students made, stumping around the corridor and talking loudly to each other, filtered itself to the lonely compartment where Emmeraud Wilshire sat, her flaming red hair falling over her face in irregular strands, hiding her eyes from any casual observer that might think about looking into her compartment. She was alone, and preferred it that way. She had a lot to think about, and knew that the idle chatter and chuckle of a bunch of unknown teenagers would certainly derail her thoughts, aside the fact that it would bother her immensely.

Sighing deeply, she leant back and lifted a leg, setting a boot-covered foot over the seat across her, black miniskirt receding even further up. Those were nice boots, she thought, and wiped a small speck of dirt off it with a wave of her hand. She thought of all her summer clothing, and gave a wistful look at the sky, greying and clouding outside her window. Fortunately, the train was warm, but she knew she'd have to get down eventually and brave Britain's cold and chilly weather. The girl wondered briefly what would the Hogwarts teachers say if she refused to use their uniform – black robes with the Hogwarts crest, almost the same design for boys and girls, not an _ounce_ of imagination – and wore instead her best winter clothing, which was sure to be better fitting and more attractive than any of those old-fashioned rags.

She knew her mind was going in tangents. Even though she was genuinely concerned about the lifestyle she would be required to adopt – but hell take her if she didn't at least make small _adjustments_ to those blasted robes –, she knew perfectly well that her main task, the one that brought her across the sea into a country she knew close to nothing about, was way above her concerns for clothing and style. Emmeraud closed her eyes, and the clear picture of a black-haired man, with eyes like hers, painted itself in her mind. She had inherited from her mother – more like 'taken it away from her' – an old picture, and the certainty that the man in it was her father. The only additional piece of information she had were a couple of words, written at the back: 'Spinner's End', with her mother's irregular writing, faded across the yellowish paper. Her mother had told her that her father was 'somewhere in Britain', but she had refused to reveal anything else about him, no matter how much the girl insisted in knowing.

Emmeraud scoffed lightly, smirking in a highly unpleasant way. Probably her father's exact whereabouts had been the only thing she had never been able to extract from _mother dearest_, and often she wondered if it was merely because she hadn't known them in the first place. The girl had a very low opinion of her mother, and often had ridiculed her efforts to maintain their little home up and running, pointing out her mistakes and mishandles as often as they'd happen. The girl was sure that, in the same circumstances, she would have acted much more effectively and would have spared the two of them a great many… inconveniences. It didn't matter anymore, though; her mother was now gone from her life, and although it had been a nuisance at first, the girl had learn to act and get what she needed – and wanted – for herself, up to that very moment, in which she travelled towards her new destination, all ties with her native America carefully severed by her, and her alone. Of course, authorities in Britain didn't need to know _that_…

These thoughts brought a smile to her face. Things had rolled out nice for Emmeraud, and she had no reason to think they wouldn't remain that way. The girl sprang up from her seat and reached up towards her trunk, her tight, buttoned up sweater lifting and showing her pierced navel with a small, silver belly button ring. She pulled her Hogwarts robes and gave them a disdainful look as she examined the stitches.

"Now, where to start…" her voice trailed off, as she threw the robes in the air, where they automatically froze, all stretched out.

As she got down the train, her brand new uniform _adjusted to a better fit_, she noticed a fair few boys staring at her, mouths agape, but she ignored them. No one talked to her, and as she walked towards a carriage, and up inside, only two other students rode with her, one of them a small boy that seemed to be in Second year, and the other one an older girl with glasses and a heavily freckle-stained face. Emmeraud's eyes were intently set on the carriage windows, apparently interested in the quickly-darkening sky and the feebly-glinting stars, but she was clearly trying to discourage the other girl to talk to her, as she saw nothing of use in her. As for the little boy, she had seen in his eyes that he was afraid of her, and it filled her with a secret happiness. With a little more practice, she could even have a little army of fearful, easily-manipulated younger students to set in doing her bidding.

_But not yet_, she thought, getting down the carriage as they arrived at Hogwarts, and walking further away from both students. She still had something else to do, something that required her all the concentration she could muster and little bit of Dark Magic.

After all, she didn't feel comfortable with the idea of something looking into her head, as she knew she'd soon had to face, by means of the school's 'sorting' – _what a ridiculous idea_, she had thought. Her _protector_, Humphrey Willis, had told her everything she needed to know about the old British school, and a few more things – unwillingly, she knew, but it didn't matter – among which was the tricky bit of magic she was about to perform.

Emmeraud pulled the hood over her head and dived into a deserted corridor while no one was looking. She pushed open the first door she found and walked in. _Funny_, she thought, _that my first acquaintance with a classroom in this place has to remain a secret…_

She had found it extremely humiliating to be subjected to the same treatment of all the First Years – later, when the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, in front of a crowd of expectant brats – but had walked across the room, between two tables full of expectant students, and towards the hat with a proud and determined look nonetheless.

_Tinkering with the Dark Arts, are we?_ the Hat had mused, browsing around her mind, trying to find a clear enough trait to sort her. The girl felt its hesitation, and a triumphant smile pulled at the corners of her lips. The Hat couldn't see inside her mind; there was a thick fog obscuring the vision into her memories and feelings, due to the effects of the spell she had performed earlier.

_You are pleased by my confusion,_ it talked to her. _You weave your way out of dangerous situations, by any means possible. That only tells me what I need to know, even though the rest of you remains a mystery to me…_

"Slytherin!" it cried, and Emmeraud quickly pulled it out of her head. She walked down to the Slytherin table, as proudly and determinedly as she had a few minutes before, and sat beside a group of older boys.

"Welcome to the best house of Hogwarts," one of them, a blonde boy with a gleaming silver badge addressed her. She turned and shot him an appraising look. The shining badge on his chest told her that she would do very good in befriending this charming stranger, and his overall countenance gave her the impression that this was a boy used to be admired and looked upon. She smiled, gracefully, but not devoid of mischief, and nodded at him. The boy smiled back, slightly surprised by her warmness. _Got you_, she thought, as she noticed how he looked around to his friends, as to tell them how it was done when you wanted to _score_ with a girl. It would have surprised him even further, and probably frighten him, to know what went on in Emmeraud's head, and all the uses the girl had already found for him.

"So, you transferred from America, right?" Emmeraud felt a hand setting softly on her back, after they had eaten and left the Great Hall towards their respective dormitories, and turned to face the well-known voice. The blonde boy smiled at her, wishing to appear bold, but his face showed an expression of pathetic eagerness.

Emmeraud smiled and pushed his hand softly off her back. "Yes, I transferred, but had I known you greeted your visitors this _closely_," she shot him a dangerous look, "I might have not."

The boy's grin faded into morose embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled, and composed himself. "I'm Silenius Vector," he said, offering her a hand in salute, "Slytherin Prefect. And your name is…?"

"Emmeraud Wilshire," she answered, not taking her eyes off him. Apparently this made him a little nervous, and less willing to take the lead. It amused her.

"Nice to meet you, Emmeraud," he said, smiling nervously. She held his look for a few seconds, and then eased her features into a smile. "Nice to meet you too, Silenius," she answered, and added, "sorry about that, it's just that I'm tired from the long day."

"No problem," he said, his childish eagerness showing again, "we all are. But you can go to rest now, as soon as we get to the dungeons—"

"Hey, Vector!" a high-pitched voice called from across the corridor, "you're supposed to take the _boys_ to their dormitories!" A tall, brown-haired girl with an unpleasant scowl strode towards him, her eyes roving between him and Emmeraud.

The boy sighed. "I _know_ that, Ellis," he said, and skipped towards the front, where a small group of confused First Years was crowded in front of a wall. "It's not like they'll never find it themselves, anyway," he said, pushing them to a side, "and instead of howling around like a Banshee, you could have opened the door already, couldn't you?"

"It wasn't my turn," the girl shrugged as the boy said a word to what was apparently a portrait of an old, gloomy man.

"Proteus," he said, and the old man in the painting swung back to reveal the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. In went everyone, and towards their respective dormitories, except the First Years and Emmeraud. In all honesty, the girl had already noticed the path the other girls took to get to their rooms, and was sure it wouldn't be hard science to find her own room and things, but she wanted to take a look at the Common Room first before going to sleep.

"Boys that way, with Vector," the girl called Ellis said, irritably, "girls, follow me. You too, over there," she called Emmeraud.

The girl turned with an arrogant look. "I can find my own way, thanks," she said, and turned back to inspecting the fireplace. The girl Prefect fumed and walked towards Emmeraud with a fierce look. "You come right now with me!" she said, aiming her hand to grip Emmeraud's arm.

But she never got to touch her, for her hand met prickling sparks as it drew mere inches away from the girl's arm, making her shriek a strangled sort of cry. Emmeraud turned around with a hard, threatening look. "Or what, _Ellis_?" she laid the girl's name with a derisive tone.

"What did you do to me?!" the girl cried, nursing her hand. Emmeraud smiled disdainfully and turned around again. "It's not like I'll never find the way myself, anyway, is it?" she said. The girl Prefect shook with anger at this taunt, but thought it better and stormed towards the dormitories with a cry of 'Follow me!' to the First Year girls, who trailed clumsily after her, looking thoroughly scared.

Emmeraud grinned widely, her face hidden as she looked at the burning embers. She knew she had made herself noticed in a favourable way, at least for her, since no one in her House would dream now of trying to subject her to their wishes and whims. They had seen what she could do without a wand – _what a ridiculous dependence to a wooden stick they teach here_, she had thought when she had found out about wands, back in America – and it hadn't been pretty. The shrill Prefect girl had been defeated in their first confrontation, and Emmeraud doubted that she'd come back for more, although she almost wished she did. And the Prefect boy – _Silly Silenius_, she had already nicknamed him in her head – will soon be eating off her palm, provided she played the right moves with him.

_This will be fun_, she thought, turning around with a smile and walking calmly to the stairs towards the girl's dormitories.


	2. Chapter 2

**PRECIOUS / dirt / STONE / road **

_II_

The dancing lights of the Alarm Charm felt like stabs on her retinas, and as she slowly regained consciousness and awareness of where she was, Emmeraud threw a hand in the air as if to push away the lights. They flickered on for a minute more and then went off, and the girl turned on the bed. Emmeraud had never liked waking early, being regularly a late sleeper. And the previous night, she had hardly slept at all, considering all her excitement and anticipation to her first day of school in a completely new place. She had been planning and looking forward to things, knowing that she'd have to become a teacher favourite as soon as possible, if she was to be left alone to do what she wanted. It was an obvious tactic: the high-scorers were always given more leeway, and she will need all the indulgence she could get if she was to make her search on her own.

The girl trusted her innate ability for wandless magic to help her – _it shouldn't be hard,_ she thought, _to channel my magic through that wooden crutch for a while, until I get the hang of the spell, and then do it on my own, should it? _She had been brought up to think so; after all, that's how they taught magic in American schools. The use of wands was compulsory only for Muggle-borns and that only through their first two years at school, on the consideration that they hadn't had any previous magical training, and later they were expected to be apt to join the rest of the school population, in the regular classes. So, since Emmeraud's mother had been a witch, the girl had been required to have mastered, at least, the basics of magic – levitation spells, simple transfiguration, and basic potion brewing – before entering Magical High School. It was like having been home-schooled, only that Americans rarely relied on wands or any other artefact designed to channel their own power.

But still, such a positive outlook in her new school life didn't make up for having to wake before the sun was up. Emmeraud grumbled a little before finally pushing open the curtains of her four-poster bed. It didn't help her much that it was, by far, the most comfortable bed she had slept in.

As the first lights from the window – apparently charmed to appear as if they looked outside, considering they were in a _dungeon_ – fell on her face – meriting another grumble – she noticed two things: first, that there wasn't a bathroom in sight, and second, that the two other girls she shared the room with had been staring expectantly at her bed, and had turned their faces away as soon as her face showed up.

_It __might be useful to befriend these little idiots_, Emmeraud thought, pulling herself out of her bed and waving her hand towards her trunk, which opened neatly, letting a few clothes fly out and reach their owner.

The girls stared at the trunk and the flying clothes, bewildered, forgetting to look nonchalant. Emmeraud smiled as she grabbed the items. "Do any of you know where the nearest shower is?" she asked them, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

"Y-yeah… of course," one of them, the less intimidated one, walked towards the door and opened it, pointing to her left. "At the end of this hall there are two doors: the one in the left is for students from First to Third Year, and the one in the right is for students from Fourth to Seventh Year."

"And which one is the less crowded?" Emmeraud asked.

"Well, there were only three First Years this year…"

"Thank you." Emmeraud answered and waved her hand once more to her trunk. An assortment of bottles and brushes flew behind her as she left the room. The other two followed her with their gazes, and after a brief moment of hesitation, got up and trailed behind her.

"But you can't go in there!" one of them said. Emmeraud turned around, eyeing her with a defiant look. "I mean, you _shouldn't_ go in there…"

"Why?" she asked.

"Because…" the girl hesitated, "you'd be jinxed, with a horrible skin rash."

Emmeraud thought about it for a second. "Fine, then, I'll go to the other one. Thank you."

The two girls smiled, and went back to their room.

Emmeraud pondered, as she walked, on what to do. When she arrived to the corresponding bathroom, she noticed a long line of older students waiting for the six showers to vacate. _Fuck_, she thought,_ I'll_ _never get a proper shower at this rate._ But she smiled, nonetheless, and closed her eyes. Soon after, a heavy thud was heard inside of one of the stalls, and a cry of pain flew out of it, filling the room and reverberating across the walls.

"Millie, are you alright?!" one of the students in the line yelled, and rushed to the door. Inside, the occupant was crying and moaning, and as her friend pushed the door open, she tried to cover herself from view, and, at the same time, massage her back. Her friend tried to wrap her in a towel and lift her, only to make her yelp in pain.

"My back, I've hurt my back!" she cried, and tried to stand up on her own. "I slipped on something, I don't know what…"

"It's alright, we'll take you to the Hospital Wing," another girl attempted to lift her, but it was impossible without making her hurt. She cried and yelled and asked her friends to call Madam Pomfrey to the bathroom, but before anyone had gone to do so, Emmeraud spoke.

"Why don't you Stun her?"

Everyone turned to look at her, as if they had just realised she was there. "What?" asked one of Millie's friends.

"_Stun_ her," Emmeraud repeated, as if teaching a small kid to count. "That way, she won't feel pain, and you can levitate her to the Hospital Wing, right?"

Most girls nodded and asked around for a wand to do what Emmeraud had suggested. In a few minutes, Millie was unconscious, and her friends were clumsily wrapping her in towels, and throwing a cloak over her, as they made their way down to the Hospital Wing.

Since at least five girls had left the line, it was much shorter than when Emmeraud had arrived. But she didn't feel like waiting about twenty minutes more. Another girl had entered the vacated stall, and had just closed the door. _It's only too easy_, Emmeraud thought, and waved slightly her hand towards the door. Instantly, a scream was heard behind it, and the girl inside threw the door open, escaping the stall half-wrapped in her towel. She was white in the face, and trembling.

"A-an… a-c-cro… ac-c…" she stuttered, pointing to the stall.

"What is it, Kels?" asked one of her friends, but they couldn't get a straight word out of her. One thing was for sure, though: she didn't want to go into that stall ever again.

_So_that_ did the trick_, thought Emmeraud, suppressing a smile, as nobody dared to enter that accursed stall after the second girl had gone out. She took a step front and asked, in a clear and audible voice, "isn't anyone going to use this one?"

All the girls looked at her as if she had gone mad, and moved aside for her. She walked confidently and closed the door with a snap behind her, to enjoy a nice, long – and _earned_ – shower.

Later, as she got back to her room, clad on a pair of low-cut, tight jeans, a red blouse, unbuttoned down to the middle of her breasts, and red leather boots, her roommates eyed her inquisitively.

"What?" she asked slightly annoyed.

"Are you alright?" one of them asked.

"'Course I'm alright." Emmeraud answered, not knowing nor caring about the other girl's meaning.

"They said you went into the Cursed Stall…"

"The what?" Emmeraud asked, but before anyone answered, she knew what they were on about. "Oh, that…"

"No one has even been hurt in the stalls, and Kelsey Wilkins said she had seen a huge, black, Acromantula in a corner…" one of them said, almost whispering.

"And you concluded," Emmeraud said, rolling her eyes, "that the stall _had_ to be cursed, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah…" one of them answered, hesitatingly. She sounded like a little child afraid of ghosts, and she had just realised it. She blushed and added, "o-of course, it could have been a coincidence…"

"She could have imagined it…" said the other girl, quickly.

"Of_ course _she imagined it," Emmeraud said, impatiently. "Look, why would someone curse a bathroom _stall_?"

None of the girls could answer that. Emmeraud nodded, and went on, packing her books into a black jean bag, fashionably torn and patched. It didn't look old at all.

"So, eh…" one of the girls ventured, trying to start a conversation with Emmeraud, "are you any good at Charms, eh… Wilshire?"

Emmeraud suppressed an exasperated sigh and turned around, a veiled tone of sarcasm in her voice. "Oh, how rude have I been!" she said, with a simper, "my name is Emmeraud, or Em, if you're in a rush, what are your names?"

"I'm Clara Banks, and this is Emily Stonebrock," one of them replied. Clara was a short, plump girl with curled, brown hair. Emily was medium-height, with long, dirty blonde hair. Neither of them had, apparently, realised that they weren't exactly being treated nicely.

Emmeraud surveyed the both of them, smile firmly on, and pushed her bag to a shoulder. "Nice to meet you, girls," she said, walking to the door, "and yes, Clara, I'm quite good at Charms," she answered and opened the door. "So, shall we go?"

The two girls hurried to get their books and followed Emmeraud down to their Common Room. "Hold on, I want to say hi to a friend," the girl said, as she spotted Silenius sitting on a sofa, apparently waiting for someone. As soon as the boy saw her, he sprang to his feet and strode towards her, grinning widely.

"Hello there," he said, eyeing her tight clothes with failed nonchalance.

Emmeraud didn't seem to remark on that. "Hi, how's it going?" she asked, innocently.

"Fine, thanks. Had a good rest?" the boy asked.

"Very good, thank you," she replied, and added, "are you waiting for someone?"

The boy threw a look towards the girl's dormitories. "No, I don't think she's coming any time soon," he said, and jumped to his former seat to pick his books.

"She?" Emmeraud asked when they were at the door.

"Oh, it's just Cassie, the other Sixth Year Prefect, you know her," the boy answered, promptly, "we're in the same class, and we usually go together, but we're not– I mean, _dating_, or anything."

"Oh, alright," Emmeraud smiled at him. "So, would you like to walk with me to my class today?"

The boy smiled, delighted. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, leading the way.

But he stopped before they were out of the Common Room. "Please, could you— you know, it's the rules— wear your Hogwarts robes?"

"Aww, you'd prefer me to?" asked the girl, pouting.

"Well, no, of course," Silenius shot her a mischievous look, "but the other Prefects might probably make it an excuse to take points from Slytherin, you know…" he replied, hiding the plea in his voice.

"And nobody _wants_ that, right?" Emmeraud replied, and pulled her robes out of her bag. She knew she would not be allowed to go around the school without her uniform, anyway, but she had wished to delude herself for a few blissful minutes. "But you have to know I hate them," she added, throwing open the robe rather as if it was a coat, fitting it over her clothes and closing the Invisible Stitch in front – the one she had worked on, among other things, the day before, at the Hogwarts train – with a tap of her finger, "they get on the way of _things_."

The two girls were amazed at the way she had _fixed_ her robes, but Emmeraud didn't take notice of it. The boy merely chuckled, and walked out of the Room, showing her around the castle as they made their way to the Charms classroom, Emmeraud's two classmates trailing behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

**PRECIOUS  
dirt  
STONE  
road**

_III._

They arrived to the Charms classroom just in time. Filius Flitwick, the Charms Professor closed the door as soon as the three girls went in, and motioned everyone to settle down.

Emmeraud took a seat around the middle of the class, flanked by her two housemates. She looked around to familiarise herself with the rest of students, and spotted around fifteen other youngsters from the other houses, in groups of threes or fours. They didn't seem as detached from the group as the three of them were; apparently, there was a good feeling of friendship between the Houses, except the House of Slytherin. Emmeraud wondered for a moment why would that be, but she had to leave her ponderings for later as a squeaky sort of voice cut across the air. It was Flitwick, at the front, standing over a tower of great, thick books. _He's a goddamned dwarf_, she thought, disdainfully.

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome this year's first class!" he said, cheerfully. Emmeraud realised that he was the kind of person that didn't mistrust, or judge, anyone, and that it would be easy to warm up to him, provided she was good with her Charms job, which wasn't a huge difficulty for her.

"I've seen most of you before," Flitwick continued, "except one." He beamed towards Emmeraud, as the rest of the class turned around to look at the person he was referring. "Please, let's welcome our new transfer student with a round of applause!" he said, and clapped his hands.

The rest of students followed, some smiling, some with a disbelieving look. Emmeraud smiled widely, nodding and acknowledging their warm welcome. She was enjoying that bit of extra attention from a teacher.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Wilshire," Flitwick said, "I hope it lives up to your expectations, and likewise, I hope you live up to ours."

The girl nodded, taking in the meaning of the teacher's words. _Not a fool, then_, she thought, scratching that trait from her mental picture of him.

"Now, to work," he said, and motioned them to open their books. "Page twelve, please. You know the drill: a light reading of the theory, and then, to practice!"

That class had been quite easy. Theory wasn't that hard, and practice was even easier for Emmeraud, considering she had been doing Summoning Charms for ages. Flitwick had been impressed with her performance, and had asked her to do a Banishing Charm afterwards, which she had accomplished just as easily. It had had a downside, though: seeing that she had already managed to do all the work of at least one term, Flitwick had set her to practice doing both charms at the same time, which was something the girl hadn't done before, and was taking significant difficulty to manage.

She took the time to observe the rest of her year mates, instead. Both her female housemates were having difficulty with their work, repeating over and over the incantation to no avail; they didn't seem very good at concentrating, Emmeraud thought. The girl noticed something else: one of them, Emily, threw furtive looks toward one of the nearby desks from time to time. It was occupied by two Slytherin boys, whom Emmeraud hadn't noticed until then. They appeared to be practising, but after a few minutes of careful observation, it was clear that they were more concerned with smiling and winking at three Ravenclaw girls at the desk in front of them. Emily looked intently for a few seconds, and then returned to her work, suppressing a sigh.

Emmeraud smiled inwardly. Judging by the way she behaved, her housemate liked one of the boys. The girl didn't see any attractive feature in either of them: both were kids to her; immature, idiotic and dim-witted brats who didn't merit a second look. But as she didn't have a high opinion of Emily either, in the first place, it wasn't such a stretch to think the girl found something to like there.

"It's Alex," said Clara, half-whispering to Emmeraud. "She's liked him since First Year, but he's never even looked at her," she added.

"Really?" answered Emmeraud, not taking her eyes off the boy. Clara had made a small gesture, indicating which of them 'Alex' was. He was tall and looked quite haughty, with black hair falling around his pale face, and almost reaching his shoulders. His fine features made him look almost like a girl, but his thick eyebrows and lashes, encircling a pair of twinkling deep blue eyes, gave him a definite air of emerging masculinity. Emmeraud knew at once he was the spoiled kind, and was probably used to getting what he wanted every time.

"Yeah," answered Clara. "It's getting kind of sad, honestly," she added. Emily had been staring at the boy for a few minutes, before getting back to her own work, another sigh suppressed.

Emmeraud agreed. It was downright _pathetic_ to be in such a state just because a boy didn't know you existed. _When they don't look, you _make_ them look_, she thought, distractedly swinging a small pillow she was using to practice. With a casual move of her hand, she threw the pillow towards the boy, hitting him on the head. The pillow bounced on him and fell to the floor, while he looked around to locate the offender.

"Sorry!" Emmeraud said, feigning remorse, "Emily, could you please pass the pillow?" she said, nudging her friend towards the boy. "Sorry, again!" she added, smiling at the boy.

He smiled back. "No problem," he said, and picked the pillow. Emily was a deep shade of red when the boy left the item on her hands, and passed it back to Emmeraud. "Here," she said, with a very small voice.

"Thanks," Emmeraud said, and resumed her work. But when it was too obvious that Emily was glaring at her, she looked up and faced her. "Yes?"

"You did that on purpose," she said, sternly.

"Of course I did." Emmeraud answered. "You've been wanting him to look back at us since we walked in the classroom, and I just made him do so."

"I…" Emily started. She expected Emmeraud to deny it, so she could argue with her, but as the girl had admitted her true intentions that easily, she had not known what else to say. Behind her, Clara grinned widely, forgetting to pretend she was working on her charm.

"Look," Emmeraud added, before the girl could recover, "it isn't that hard to get a boy to notice you, especially the likes of him. He's obviously a sucker for pretty faces, because that's all there is to see around here," the girl made a derisive gesture to their robes, "but if he gets to see more than _that_," she winked, "he'll be enthused in a jiff."

Emily blushed, as she got Emmeraud's meaning – _more than what, exactly?_ Emmeraud smiled, and gave a look at Emily's body, which made the girl blush even more. "It shouldn't be too hard to make him look, if you really want him to," she added, picking a strand of her hair and inspecting it closely, "so, do you?"

"Do I… what?" she asked, but it was obvious she knew what Emmeraud meant. The girl rolled her eyes, exasperated. Clara picked that moment to speak. "Of course you want him to," she told Emily, "but you don't know how, and clearly, Emmeraud does," she said, matter-of-factly, "right?"

"Right," Emmeraud replied. "So, it's settled, then," she added, going back to swinging around her pillow. "You need a complete make-over, if you're to enter his mind the way we need you to, and that's my area of expertise, so, leave it to me."

Emily was stunned into silence. She opened her mouth to answer a couple of times, but it looked more as if she was gasping for air. At the end, she settled for a whispered 'thanks', which Emmeraud acknowledged with a nod, and went back to her work.

_It will be fun_, Emmeraud thought, thinking ahead all the work she'll have to do with the girl. It was a challenge, and she loved them, especially when they involved doing fun things regarding fashion, and people's minds. Besides, she knew that, earning the girls' trust and, seemingly, helping them with their troubles, will make them absolutely loyal to her, and as she would surely need to cash out on that loyalty sooner or later, it was all to her own benefit.

Transfiguration wasn't as fun as she had expected, though. Soon after their arrival, she had realised that the Transfiguration teacher, McGonagall, belonged to a very different breed than Flitwick. She had, as well, welcomed her to Hogwarts, and upon setting a task for them – transfiguring bunnies into balls of yarn – she had specifically requested that Emmeraud use her wand. "You do have a wand, right?" she had asked, with a slightly hard voice.

'_Course I do, fuckwit_, Emmeraud thought, nodding and fumbling into her backpack. She took out the wand she had purchased earlier that month, knowing that, sooner or later, she would be _forced_ to use it.

"Good. Get to work, then," McGonagall added, and left to her desk.

Emmeraud looked at the wooden stick she held on her hand, and groaned. She hated the feel of it; it was heavy and uncomfortable to use, and too large. She had tried to familiarise with it before, but had given up after a few attempts. It didn't make her any less powerful, but it was a very weird feeling: she felt her power was channelled and grew stronger, and yet, she felt as if she had been put a restraint. It was like being a racing horse and wanting to go for a run, and instead, being forced by the rider to go on a calm trot. It annoyed her to no end.

Emmeraud set to work on her bunny. She had transfigured things before, though not as complex as a mammal. Quite frankly, she didn't really like the subject, considering all the _studying_ behind it. She aimed the wand to the rabbit, and repeated the incantation. A jet of red light flew off her wand, and hit the poor animal, sending it to jump around the table in pain.

"Fuck!" the girl said, and waved a hand to bring back the animal.

"Miss Wilshire, I thought I told you to use only your wand," McGonagall's voice came across the room, graver than before. "Also, we do not endorse that kind of language here, so, please, control yourself."

"Sorry," said the girl, annoyed. She set the rabbit on the table, and aimed the wand at it, more like threatening it than attempting to transfigurate it. She said the incantation, and the bunny hopped up, burnt again.

"Shit!" she dropped the wand angrily, and waved to the rabbit once more. McGonagall came across the room, her face twisted with irritation.

"Miss Wilshire! Stop that behaviour at once, or I'll give you detention!"

Emmeraud looked at the teacher, her gaze burning with hatred. She kneeled down to pick her wand, breathing heavily and trying not to break into a stream of profanities.

McGonagall stood in front of her, arms folded across her chest. "I know you come from another country, and might have been taught things in a very different way, but this is not your old school," she said in a harsh and firm voice. "You will adhere to Hogwarts' rules while you're at Hogwarts, which means you will use a wand to perform magic, and refrain from using such language in class, you understand?"

"Yes, professor," Emmeraud said, through gritted teeth. She realised McGonagall was a skilled witch, and someone she didn't want to cross, but it was all she could do to avoid hitting the aged woman with all the painful hexes she was thinking of at the moment.

Emmeraud feigned to work during the remaining of the class hour. She knew she'd cause the rabbit to go around in bouncy circles if she tried again, especially while being so angry with herself and the teacher, so she contented herself with aiming the wand at it and shooting small rays of harmless magic, missing on purpose. Her housemates didn't say anything to her, maybe by fear of it resulting in a painful hex being aimed at them, or because they didn't know what to say. They had no idea what it was to be subjected to that treatment, having used wands their entire student lives, and even though it wasn't any easier for them to manage the class work, they knew Emmeraud was in a very different situation.

At long last, the class was over. Emmeraud packed up her things, relieved about finally leaving that torture chamber, and walked towards the door, without looking back to see if Clara and Emily were following.

"Remember to study the theory," said McGonagall, as the students filed out, "especially you, Miss Wilshire."

A fresh bout of anger rose in Emmeraud's chest, and she hurried out of that blasted classroom. She felt taunted, diminished, and all because of a simple spell she couldn't perform. She walked at a brisk pace and pushed open the first door she saw, disappearing behind it. It was a girls' bathroom, and as she reached one of the sinks, her hands clumping into fists, she gave a frustrated cry, hitting the mirror in front of her as hard as she could.

"That miserable bitch, that—" the words died in her throat, as she shook with ravenous fury. Her housemates had caught up with her, and were behind, looking worriedly as she punch-broke the mirror and panted heavily, leaning on the sink while her tears fell down, mixing with the blood falling from her hands. "I'm gonna kill her, the fucking—" she muttered, taking in the cold of the icy jet pouring down the tap, in an attempt to calm down. She scooped some water and splashed her face, trying not to wet her hair. Finally, she realised she was not alone, and turned around to look at her classmates.

"A-are you…?" Clara ventured, pointing at her hands.

"It's nothing," replied Emmeraud, and stretched out her hands. The cuts slowly regenerated and the swelling of the knuckles lessened in front of their eyes.

The girls were amazed at this. Emmeraud chuckled, dejectedly. "A little trick for small cuts," she said, shrugging. "I bet no one in this school knows how to do it, and all because of your beloved _wands_," she added, laying the last word with scorn.

"Save Madam Pomfrey, maybe…" said Emily, shyly.

Emmeraud shut her up with a glance. "Never mind," she said, turning around and inspecting her hair in the mirror. She had difficulty doing this, seeing as she had just broken it, so she moved to the whole mirror aside. "Not a word of this, either of you," she said, fixing her hair with a hand wave.

"Of course not," Clara replied, and the three of them left the bathroom.

_I'm not thinking clearly_, Emmeraud told herself, as they made their way to the Great Hall for lunch. She knew she had failed because she hadn't taken the task seriously, and hadn't concentrated enough. She would have to learn to use the wand to avoid getting on McGonagall's bad side, which was something she didn't need. It seemed to her the old teacher had taken an immediate dislike of her, and was set to make her life impossible. The girl would have loved to teach the old hag a few lessons, but knew it wasn't smart to do anything against her. Instead, she would have to work harder at getting liked by the other teachers, seeing as how she had fallen in disgrace with one of them so easily. It didn't suit her, and it had to be remedied at all costs.

"… trailing behind like a lap dog."

Emmeraud had been ignoring the other girl's chattering, but as she entered the Great Hall, and caught the last of Clara's words, she turned to see what the girl was pointing at.

It was the shrill Slytherin prefect of the previous night, walking behind Silenius, and trying to make the boy listen to her. He had the distinct look of someone bored of arguing about the same thing over and over, and was clearly ignoring her, as the two of them made their way to the Slytherin table.

Emmeraud motioned her friends to follow. "Come," she said, and walked briskly towards the boy.

"… and you're not supposed to—"

"Hi," Emmeraud interrupted the girl, smiling at the boy, "I was wondering if you could help me with something."

The boy nodded fervently, smiling, "of course, Em," he said, passing an arm around the girl's shoulders, and giving a quick, helpless look to the brown-haired girl, "see you later, Cass," he added, and led Emmeraud to a vacant seat at the table.

Emmeraud smiled inwardly. At least, there was something she was still good, if not excellent, at.


End file.
